


The Sculpture

by alifletcher2010



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 14:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19855309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alifletcher2010/pseuds/alifletcher2010
Summary: Many times, it felt as if the stone carved itself, her hand only guided by her heart.Pygmalion myth inspired Feysand





	The Sculpture

**Author's Note:**

> When I was a kid we had this book about Greek Mythology that I just adored. One of the myths it had was Pygmalion and Galatea and I remember just adoring it. I was going through books with at my momma’s house and found it again. And while the myth is substantially less romantic as an adult there’s still that scene where he touches her skin and it’s warm...and it just felt very Feyre/Rhys to me. So this came as a result. Tamlin is involved though, so there’s abuse and the fallout of that detailed

Feyre was living in her father’s house when _he_ first came to her dreams. They were unclear and misty at the beginning, but it was like he was slowly born from the shadows. First it was a hand, strong and sinewy, then his forearm muscled smooth. Bit by bit, night after night, he became more and more clear to her until he knew his every detail.

Every night she saw him in her dreams. Every waking moment was consumed with his features. She had never carved a sculpture before, had only painted, but she knew that canvas and paint could never truly depict him. Could never have enough depth. So she saved every penny she could spare, ferreted away over months, years. It was not enough, _should not have been_ enough for the stone. But the deeply flawed, black stone, the stone mason had been desperate to get rid of. 

Her sisters laughed when they saw it, her father shook his head. _Why could they not have a normal daughter, a normal sister, who wanted flowers and parasols and to dance the night away?_ No, Feyre wanted stone and chisel and hammer.

For weeks, the statue was her only solace. She poured her loneliness and despair into her statue and slowly a form began to take shape. Many times, it felt as if the stone carved itself, her hand only guided by her heart. 

And then she met Tamlin.

She had been in the market, hurrying through the work of caring for her family so that she might have a few moments longer to carve that night. Feyre hadn’t noticed the men following her, hadn’t seen the malevolent glint in their eyes until it was too late. She never would’ve made it home that night, would have never painted or carved again had it not been for Tamlin.

He saved her and in return, she gave him her heart, wholly and woefully unprotected.

Her carving took on a new note after that. She no longer had pain to pour into her work, but joy and love. It seemed as if the flaws in the stone disappeared as she worked now and the black marble took on an intensity she often got lost in.

Eventually, as her relationship with Tamlin progressed and her love for him deepened, she moved to his estate. He had tried to convince her to leave behind the sculpture, claiming the yawning black made him uncomfortable, but Feyre had insisted and plead and he could refuse her nothing.

She was so very happy at first. She finally had the home and the belonging she wanted. There was time and space to paint to her heart’s content. She wanted for nothing.

But it is funny how the desires of the heart can be used to ensnare.

At first, Tamlin was as charming and adoring as ever. He showered her with gifts and compliments and showed her off to all his friends. But slowly, his control tightened around her like a noose.

He pushed her to paint more and sculpt less because her work made him so very happy. And how should she ever want him to be unhappy? She wore what he wanted her to wear, said what he wanted her to say, did what he wanted her to do. She even tried to dream less, dream of _him_ less. (though she really had no control over that) But it made Tamlin happy. And if Tamlin was happy, was not she as well?

Yet somehow happiness no longer felt the way it used to.

It felt cold and empty.

And alone.

He left her. Often. He left her trapped and alone in that once beautiful home. It was only a cage now.

She would sneak to the basement, when he was away, to carve. It was the only thing that made her feel now, the only thing that hadn’t been tainted. So she carved her rebellion till her nails broke and her fingers bled. Carved out her hatred and fear and loneliness and utter despondency.

 _He_ was nearly complete. And he was _glorious_. The most beautiful male she had ever seen. Sensual mouth, devious eyes, and a jaw sharp enough to cut skin. And his wings. They loomed out behind him, as if to take him to the skies and far away from this forsaken place. Oh how Feyre wished he would.

She reached out her hand to take his and for an instant, she swore she felt heat in his touch, rough skin instead of smooth marble. But when she touched him again, it was naught but cold, lifeless stone.

The sun was out when she finally emerged from her work. Emotions spent and exhausted, she wound her way up the empty stairs to her bedroom only find Tamlin there, all warmth in his features gone, replaced with heartless disdain.

He said nothing, there was no need. He took one look had her ruined, battered hands and she knew that he knew. She had betrayed him, defied his express command. And he would make her suffer.

And suffer she did.

Hours later, bruised and bleeding, she lay in her room, locked away. Though she was floors up, she could still hear _it_. The sound of stone being destroyed.

It sounded like a heart breaking.

Days passed and locked she stayed. She wouldn’t have left her room anyway. Gone was the last reason for life she had. She was determined to live no more, to please Tamlin no more. Death would be her defiance.

She slept often now, time passing in a strange manner. Her body slowly wasted. _Soon_. It would be soon.

She opened her eye for what felt like the first time in days. It was nightfall now, clear and wonderful. The moon cast its alabaster glow all around. The sky seemed to stretch on for eons, deep and unknowable. It reminded her of that beautiful, yet flawed stone.

She felt wetness on her cheeks. Her heart swelled and she breathed deep, breathed in new life to her soul. She would _live_ , she determined, if only for the radiance of the night sky. But she would not stay here. Would no longer live to serve another’s happiness.

As quickly as her weakened limbs would allow her she climbed from her balcony to a trellis of roses. She did not even care if she crushed them as she climbed down. They were a stupid flower anyway.

In a blink she was across the lawn and ducking under the hedgerow. She didn’t know how she missed the guards, but somehow she did. The gods where with her it seemed. And then, she was running. As fast as she could down the drive and onto the road. Her legs were shaking and her lungs burning, and Feyre had never felt this alive.

Laughter blubbled up from inside her. So overcome with joy from her escape, she didn’t see the figure land in front of her. Didn’t see the man standing there until she ran right into his arms.

It was all there, every detail she had so lovingly, so painstakingly carved into the stone. She knew everything, _everything_ about him. From every eyelash on his eyes to every whorl of his fingertips. It was all there, mapped out across his form. It was him.

And yet there was so much more that the stone had hid. The violet hue of his eyes, the leathery feel of his wing, his ethereal scent of starlight and dreams. He was wholly, completely, absolutely _alive_.

He took her marred hands in his own and delicately, with heart breaking tenderness, kissed every battered finger that brought him to life. He looked her in the eye and Feyre felt her heart stop as his mouth opened to speak.

“There you are Darling, I’ve been looking for you.”


End file.
